The african mission trip

We were all thunderstruck as we passed the village that was lower than the road. Dark corrugated tin roofs sitting on top of unpainted chipped and cracked walls closely packed together. So close that pigs nosing about between the houses looking for edible garbage didn’t have room to turn around. People in colorful, uncoordinated outfits with baskets on their heads squeezed past the swine on their way to their daily chores. In the center of the village was an indoor mall, ha, got you! The shopping area did however sport plenty of umbrellas for protection from the unsympathetic sun while people sold their wares; bananas, scarves, flowers, whatever; the poor selling to the poorer. The average income was a dollar a day on a good day. On the other side of the road was a field, well most of where we looked was dirt field with scattered trees, where children were playing. They seemed to be having fun but how could that be possible?

A few water puddles were pointed out to us by the guide that had been appointed by our sponsor, Mannaworldwide.com., an organization dedicated to stamping out hunger on planet earth named after the miracle of manna God provided to feed the Israelites as they wandered in the wilderness. Puddles that were enormous problems, breeding sites for mosquitoes, the dreaded carriers of Malaria, that horrific disease we had to be vaccinated against before we could step foot off the plane, well, before we could even get on the plane.

I was not looking forward to seeing the clinic we were here to volunteer at, or the school house either. If the houses looked like this what would everything else look like? OMG, what about our hotel! Cringing, I hoped this week would pass fast. What had I been thinking to use my vacation time to come to this God forsaken land, to help these God forsaken people? Well, next year would be different, Hawaii, here I come.

The clinic didn’t look so bad after all, though it was crowded with people milling about and sitting on the floors in the hallways. They had heard we were coming, what’s more they had heard what we were bringing with us. Hope. We were bringing them gold. Gold in the form of bed nets, nets that cost ten American dollars, ten days wages for them,(remember, that was only if they were having a good day) ten days of wages that went on food for their families. The nets were medicated and effectually killed malaria carrying pests for up to at least five years (the mosquitoes died and stayed dead but the medication lasted five years!) and we were here to distribute them, among other things.

We carried our cargo of nets and medical supplies down the hall behind the guide who greeted all patients cheerfully, touching their foreheads or proffered hands, while some just tugged on the cuff of his pants in the prospect of receiving something.
“Wow, there must be whole families here!” I exclaimed.


“Whole families?” Guide questioned in an unfamiliar accent. “Here in Africa that doesn’t exit. There is no family here that hasn’t lost someone to malaria or hunger. That lady over there, for example, has lost seven children and her husband yet she comes here to volunteer in hopes of sparing others that sorrow.”

I looked at the lady of about eighty and shook my head sadly, commenting on her age and aloneness.

“Dear, she’s only thirty two,” Guide explained.

“You’re kidding!” said I, followed by a silent, YIKES!

“Excuse me,” Guide asked, walking up to a young mother holding her baby, a baby that had just stopped crying.

Guide, setting his cane against the wall, lifted baby to his arms and cradled him lovingly, whispering in his ears softly and tenderly till I saw the frail little chest heave one last time. Eventually, Guide handed Baby back down to Mother, who accepted the still body with resignation. This wasn’t an isolated event, one baby dies every thirty seconds in Africa from malaria, who would she get sympathy from? Guide rested his hand on her shoulder and she in turn placed her’s on top and I could see her yoke of pain lighten slightly as she felt his empathy. The nets and medication came too late for her.

“You’ll see him again.” Guide assured Mom. I admired the sound of conviction I picked up in his word, they reeked with boldness. What else could he say? With no reason to stay at the clinic now, Mom shuffled off to bury her dead.

Okay, let’s deliver the nets and get out of here. I can’t take anymore of this, I was starting to sniffle!

Finally Guide took us to the school, the first of many we would visit on this trip sponsored by Mannaworldwide.com. It was a spick and span building, with tidy rooms, chalkboards and miniature desks and chairs. It almost looked like my first grade classroom, before computers and air conditioning. I’ll not tell you how old I am, so just forget it! Here things lost its comparison to American schools because one wall was decorated in colorful homemade crosses, they would be contraband in the states!

Before we entered the edifice the participants, in pristine uniforms, had swarmed out to welcome us in song with dancing and swaying, hand clapping and arms raised to the heavens. All happy faces and the only way to distinguish the girls from the boys were by the dresses (the dresses were on the girls), because all heads were clean shaven, apparently for easy upkeep and to be cool, no, not the way we in America think of being cool.

I hinted that some of the dresses and pants could be taken in a seam or two, but Guide explained that the parents couldn’t afford clothes every year so they bought clothes that would last a while on purpose. There I went with my American opinions again. This isn’t America, fool!

Guide made his way into the building past children who clamored fruitfully for his attention, it was obvious he was well loved here. One little barefooted girl from the village, a toddler in a cute little pink vest on top of a yellow blouse, adhered to his leg with one arm while she clung to a plastic green cross with her other hand. She had a grip on Guide that was permanent.

The next days were spent making balloon animals and hats, (once the balloons popped the kids still played with the colorful ruptured latex for hours), painting faces with flowers and crosses and doling out toys bequeathed by benefactors back home that couldn’t travel here for one reason or another. I was amazed at how many toys I had to give instructions on, including a jump rope. Here kids used their imagination to occupy them, when they had time for play.

And of course we spent time with our main objective; to share the love of Jesus.
After singing a rousing rendition of “Jesus loves me this I know”, led by Guide, I asked one little girl if she knew Jesus and her wide eyed response was, “Oh yes, my sisters and mom are with him now and some day he’ll come for me!” I had to blink back tears at such a strong faith. And we came here to teach them! They experienced Jesus daily!

The kids looked all the world to me like any of the kids found in American schools; America is not the gold standard for comparison; it’s just my only reference point having been the victim of travel deficiency. They sat at neat little desks with colorful chairs and paid attention or got distracted, fidgeted or sat still, answered questions or tried to blend into the wood work. They hammed it up for the camera, flexing muscles, jostling for prominent positions, laughing, or just blatantly staring at the aperture. Yep they were all American, er, African kids!

I noticed at lunch time some of the kids didn’t eat their whole meal, meals provided by mannaworldwide.com at the feeding centers. I mentioned to Guide that I guess they weren’t starving as bad as the American press made out. Guide looked at me like I was speaking Martian, that’s spoken on the planet Mars, a place far from the realities of this world, “They have brothers and sisters at home that their parents can’t afford the yearly dollar tuition to send to school, so they ration their lunches out to bring home.” Gulp; boy did I feel foolish. I actually had surmised that the heavily curried food was more than they could tolerate along with me. I hate curry! But then again if in America they might not like hot dogs….Nah, everyone loves hot dogs! I’m just glad I brought a generous supply of energy bars for myself; they were the main item on my breakfast, lunch and dinner menu.

Remember when said I couldn’t wait for this week to be over? Well, I’m eating those words now as we all hug goodbye. The faces we painted crosses on this morning smiled at us from under their balloon topped noggins as we all hugged and cried. One little girl whispered in my ear, “We pray for you,” in broken English. Pray for us! They had nothing yet they prayed for us! Sometimes there are just no words that can express human emotions.

Thank heavens we all brought cameras, between the dozen or so of us we had thousands of pictures to share on Face Book to relive this week over and over and use to enlist more volunteers for the next mission trip.

On the ride back to our pick up point Guide filled us in on the various organizations that have been helpful to this part of the globe, Manna worldwide, Imagine no Malaria, Heifer International. He was more than a tour guide he was inspirational speaker. He casually mentioned how only twenty five dollars a month would supply one child with two uniforms, school tuition and supplies, meals, medication, and nets for a year. He wouldn’t know till we got home but our church group picked up the bill for one of the schools we had visited for a year!

At headquarters Guide pulled into the parking lot, turned around in his seat to hand each of us an envelope with our names beautifully embossed on them with instructions to not open till he was gone.

Then he disembarked and headed off down the road. Inside the building the receptionist received us with her mouth wide open. “Where have you guys been, we thought you stole the van!” she exclaimed, explaining that everyone had been looking for us for a week. That was ridiculous we said explaining we had met the guide here as scheduled and he took us on the rounds of schools and clinics we were to visit. The receptionist calmly enlightened us on the fact that our guide had been late that morning and found the van gone! That couldn’t be we argued, he just dropped us off. We all ran to the door to catch him so he could collaborate our story but the long dirt road was empty, there was no way he could have gotten out of sight so soon.

"Look!" I exclaimed,"Here's his cane!" I squealled as if that was all the proof we needed for his existence.

"That is a shepherd's staff," explained the receptionist, coolly.

I pursed my lips together tightly, self control is not my forte, but I actually filtered my thoughts and avoided saying, but not thinking, Hey lady, I'm from Fort Worth,you know, cattle town, give me a cattle prod and I'll show you how that works!

One of the service men who had come out to examine the van to see what we had stolen or hawked approached us. Scratching his head he announced, "The milage hasn't changed and the tank is still full, it doesn't even look like the van left our lot!"

Our leader asked, "Why would we come from America and steal a van to drive around unfamiliar territory delivering malaria nets and medicines, visit school kids for a week and bring said van back unharmed if we were thieves!"

The receptionist couldn't respond, she needed time to come up with a plausable explanation.

We stared at each other in disbelieve. I was still holding my envelope and well, he was gone now so I could open it. Inside was a gift card with gold lettering that read, “Redeemable for one Gold Crown, recipient must be present to collect, pick up at Pearly Gate #2 on Admission to Heaven, signed Jesus”

photos by Kim and David Hayes

www.imaginenomalaria.org
http://mannaworldwide.com
http://www.heifer.org/

Exo 16:15
Psalm23
Math. 9:37
Math 19:14
John 6:31
1 corinthians 9:25
1 corinthians 13:3
James 2:14-26


How MANNA is unique:
1. MANNA was founded and continues to serve children because we have each experienced the love of Jesus Christ and desire to bring that same peace to the entire world.
2. MANNA serves people regardless of their race, gender, religion, or ethnicity!
3. MANNA is committed to always maintain less than a 10% overhead.
4. MANNA partners with veteran Christian workers to provide resources to help them care for the poor.
5. MANNA leads more than 100 trips each year for supporters to see how their generosity has been used.
6. MANNA Directors do not receive salaries and must raise their own funds to cover personal expenses.




.

the GPS

As I waited for my lethal concoction of milk, sugars, candies and whipped cream a man, (or the missing link), walking by tapped on the passenger window. I looked around to be sure I had witnesses in case I was at the beginning end of a crime spree; I didn’t want to die anonymously. No one was paying attention, occupants of the cars behind me were studying the menu and the employee who took my order was talking on her walkie-talkie to the customer following me in line, so I ignored the intruder for a few minutes but he persistently tapped on the pane of glass. Then the young lady at the drive in window came out of her coma and raised her brows at me, I could read her mind, “Well, lady, are you going to see what he wants or not?”

Faint-heartedly I rolled down the window a scooh-ette, you know that’s just a little less than a scoosh. The repugnant looking stranger squeezed his lips through the miniscule opening so he could be heard and announced, “Hey lady, your front tire here is almost flat.”

“Oh, thanks,” I said, slightly relieved. It could still be a trick, “I’ll get it checked out.” Then I quickly closed the window so I could resume my respirations. Out with the bad air in with the good air. Whew, he needed mints in the worst possible way! Wars could be won if soldiers had rotten teeth and halitosis as bad as this guy’s.

After I was handed my comfort potion I headed to the garage where I get my car worked on most of the time and was informed that the stranger was absolutely correct, my front tire was almost flat. The mechanic, scratching his head, queried if my dashboard panel was working. Apparently this model car should have a little light that warns me of low tire pressure.

“Oh, this thing!” I exclaimed. “It’s been lit up ever since I bought the car, seven months ago now I guess.”

The mechanic gave me a look that insinuated he had no need for job insecurity as long as women had driver’s licenses. I felt a little foolish but once he airs my tires up and I get away that feeling will dissipate rapidly thanks to the short term memory loss I inherited from my ancestors.

“You didn’t notice any difficulty driving? I’ll bet your shoulders hurt from pulling on the steering wheel,” the grease monkey ventured.

“Nope, not a thing,” I lied, thinking of all that money spent on massages to loosen my neck muscles. No way was I going to satisfy his intuition; after all even irresponsible people have pride.

“I’m on my way now,” I notified, via cell phone, the friend whose new house I was on my way to inspect. “I had to stop…{slurp} to fix my…{slurp} …tires..{gulp}.”

“What is that gosh awful sound you’re making?” Jen asked.

“I stopped for a shake.”

“I thought you were on a diet?”

“Did I say it was a reduction diet?” I countered in defense of my guilt.

Turning on the GPS I set forth on my inner city safari to Jen’s new residence happily gulping away on my shake with one hand while the other hand was on the steering wheel enjoying the ease at which the wheels were operating. Wow, what a difference fully loaded tires make! My shoulders were no longer stiff! Whoopee. I didn't have to put my back into driving. Note to self: learn about the little dashboard lights!

"Go point 1 mile and turn left on East I-30". I looked ahead and thought no, I need to go right, and that's what I did.

"Recalculating route. Go 1.2 miles and exit on Star Street and make a U turn."

No. I definitely need to head west on I-30. I know that much about where I'm going, if I just give the GPS time to get its signals right it'll get on the correct page.

"Exit on Star Street and turn left."

This thing is still malfunctioning; it's trying to get me to go east. What a dufus. I tapped the screen hoping to jar some sense into it, and then held it up closer to the satellites in outer space that feed it its information, surely the extra 24 inches would get better reception. Maybe it wasn't picking up a good signal, although all the bars were lit up.

"Please turn left on Star Street." GPS ordered, it was building up to an electronic attitude. I passed Star Street, staying on I-30 west.

"Once again, recalculating route." GPS said. Did I hear it strain to conceal its annoyance with me?

I continued on I-30. I was now running out of city, not a good omen. I decided to veer off the freeway.

"Recalculating route for the TENTH time." GPS declared as if I couldn't count, actually that was only the .....Okay, so it was ten times, so what? I turned down Markus lane, the last obvious street before I left the county!

"Checking for alternate route." Okay, check. This time I might listen.

"Turn right on Drury Ave." Oh forget that, that side of the street is too dark, the light is better going left. I'll go left and let GPS recalculate route, after all that's what I have it for.

"Please pay attention. Turn right on...Recalculating route!" GPS was getting extremely vexed and not suitably concealing her aggravation.

Up ahead the street narrowed and ended. I'm now guessing that sign I recently disregarded said "Dead End". Well, at least I won’t get too lost on a dead end street. If I can just find a way to turn around, I mused. The sun started to set as goosepumps prickled my arms and spine. The trash littered street was lined with abandoned, condemned, boarded up ram shackled houses. Not an area I would expect to find Jen’s house in. I was hopelessly lost, how that could possibly happen when I had a GPS device!!!

"You are off course." GPS stated flatly illuminated the little car on her screen that represented me. Yep, it was off course alright.

I slowed down to back up and do some route altering maneuvers when I noticed shadows circling my vehicle, shadows attached to some questionable looking dudes and dudettes.

"Oh no, now what do I do?" I muttered, not having the nerve to act like a tough guy and run them down.

"You're not asking me are you? After all you haven't listened to me yet!" GPS exclaimed with high octane exasperation. "You're on your own now." With that GPS turned herself off. Wow, imagine such deplorable behavior! A minor difference of opinion and GPS takes her hormonal feelings and ditches me.

A gang of untouchables gathered around my hood, fender and side doors, peering in at me through eyes with sclera that hadn’t been white in years. With zombie like movements they studied me like a specimen in a museum, looking expectant. I was definitely at a critical moment in my life. Looking upward into a darkening sky I prayed that death would be swift (for them preferably but considering I was outnumbered…). I shuddered as though ice was running down my backbone; what happened to the oppressive summer heat and humidity?

“God, what about a little earthquake, tornado, meteorite or hey, this would actually be a good time for the rapture, what do you say?” I suggested just as my cell phone rang. Well, I have nothing better to do, “Hello and help!” I answered.

“Where are you?” Jen asked. It was comforting to hear my friend’s voice one last time before I met Jesus. I explained the situation.

“Hey dope, dial 911!” she said and hung up. Did she really just call me a dope? Can’t say I blame her but we will have a small discussion if I ever see again.

It was great suggestion; in due course I would have thought of it myself. I quickly summoned the 911 dispatcher and as luck would have it, my first encounter with luck tonight, a squad car was nearby and appeared almost instantly to escort me to a more public thorough fare. All I had to do was follow their tail lights. I had apparently found one of the locations the innocuous homeless called home and the police educated me that occasionally good Samaritans bring them meals and they probably were expecting a hand out from me. They pronounced Good Samaritan like it was a bad thing and Hand out is police jargon, those that love God prefer to use the term love offering!

Relieved to still be among the living I decided to head to my own home instead of to Jen’s house, and this time I followed the directions of GPS, who for point of reference is very cordial when she is listened to, thank heavens because I was in no mood for her quirky mind-set on my return trip.

After a nice shower and cup of soothing chamomile tea I slipped between my clean bed sheets, well they were clean three weeks ago when I changed them for summer, and reached for my bible. Then it hit me what I’ve learned tonight. Oh, I hate days where I learn things the hard way: from my own mistakes instead of those of my friends or better yet strangers.

I learned first off that when I’m not fully loaded with God’s word I tend to stray. He has warning signs in place for a purpose, like dashboard lights, to help me steer straight, and steering straight takes the strain off my spiritual muscles. Sometimes it takes some one on the outside to let you know you need more air in your tires or more spirit in your body. I also learned that my most important GPS is God’s word and when I don’t heed its directives I could wind up in horrible dilemmas; on back streets; off the beaten path; off the straight and narrow. Like GPS he advises me where to go, what road to take, what thoughts to have, though it’s still my option to follow him, but unlike GPS he won’t go AWOL on me, he doesn’t get hormonal! And when I fail to listen to him, (not if, but when) if I call out for him he’ll provide lights for me to follow home. (I still think a little earthquake wasn’t asking for too much, come on He’s the King of the universe!)
And another idea came to me from my internal GPS, first thing tomorrow, in broad daylight, and with some friends because I’m still a wuss, I think I’ll run a food delivery, i.e. love offering, and maybe some Visine, to a few disadvantaged people on the city’s outskirts because there but for the grace of God go I.

Oh, about the milk shake, no lessons were learned there. There are some sins I’m not convicted to repent of yet but that might come up some day in another story!
Yawn. Stretch. Snuggle. Good night.

Duet 4:31
Pro. 14:12
Pro. 16:9
Isaiah 30:21
John 14:26
1 john 2:27

lost and found

I sat down at my desk with wide eyes. How does the stack of papers representing new cases get so large over night? Is someone playing a trick on me and dumping their work load on top of mine? I glanced around at the other cubicles hoping to catch some snickering jokester. No. everyone’s mound of incoming papers was just as tall as mine. One coworker who caught me comparing workloads raised his eyebrows to his assignments and shrugged. Sad because the papers represented the lost. I looked at the second stack, those that I had resolved, this stack was miserably small. Oh, I should have a better attitude. Every time we found a missing person we all shared in the victory celebration. But finding the lost meant so much to me I was disheartened by the ever growing list. Well, I better get started, I sighed. These cases weren’t going to get solved by themselves.

I read through the cases, pleas from concerned citizens about loved ones, neighbors, foreigners, a cousin of a milkman’s sister’s nieces schoolmate,(boy that was going to be a hard one to trace I thought, slipping that one to the bottom of the stack – hey, I’ll get to it!) Great, Boss just happened to stroll by at the wrong time (for me, not for him as his timing is always meticulously perfect.), I sheepishly replaced the work order in its correct sequence, Boss nodded his approval and continued through the aisles to offer assistance where needed.

Time to do the footwork, I mused, downloading my assignments onto my palm pilot which I slipped into my trench coat pocket, setting my Kojak relica hat atop my noggin, and taking off, but not before fanning my wings for effect, toppling over a filing cabinet or two and scattering paper work off nearby desks raising howls of protests from already overworked friends, tautly stretching the line of friendship. Can I help if it I was blessed with huge wings? Oops, better get out of here before Boss catches me in a moment of self pride.

My first stop? Federal prison. Mike J. (sorry can’t give last names, got to protect the guilty) was about to attend his first Kairos meeting. That’s a trained organization of volunteers that does prison ministries for truly hardened criminals. Incorrigible criminals selected by the cynical warden and politely offered an invitation for a four day bible vacation class. Criminals deemed irredeemable, (irredeemable: not able to be improved, corrected or made good). That word doesn’t exist in Boss’s vocabulary! Mike was a repeat offender, drugs, car theft, assault with a deadly weapon, bank robbery. How did he think he could rob a bank today? This isn’t Bonnie and Clyde’s’ era, what with cameras, lock downs, swat teams and the internet he didn’t stand a chance, but hey, criminals don’t have brains compressed with smarts. (p.s. let’s not forget, Bonnie and Clyde didn’t wind up so well ending up as human sprinklers, watering the road with blood.)

I found Mike J. surrounded by his cronies, invisible forces (invisible to him, not me.) Forces from the dark side, a place in existence way before the legendary Star Wars movies, who had been his mentors for most of his life. I was not permitted to mess with Mike’s free will, however, I could block the attacks…er… guidance of these diabolical influences, armed with the prayer requests of Mike’s unrequested supporters; family, friends. Even victims.


I watched as Mike enjoyed the meals cooked and served by the volunteers. Watched as he read prayer cards set down by his plate from prayer volunteers. I listened as the volunteers preached to, sang to, and loved the prisoners. But mostly I fended off the cronies constant attempts to infiltrate Mike’s mind by flicking them off his shoulders with the tips of my enormous large wings. I didn't even have to leave my position from back of the room! One of me to six of them. The odds weren’t favorably stacked. They really needed back up I thought, not too modestly flexing my wings, my enormous wings. Well, this warfare wasn’t intended to be fair. Cronies were headed for a big time let down (let down to the pits of hell) in the not too far future; this was just one small squirmish.

With unfettered use of his own faculties Mike discovered he actually enjoyed his time in bible studies. He actually enjoyed it. It brought back memories from his preadolescence; happy years before he succumbed to bad influences. And no one was more surprised than him (or the ever skeptical warden who’d seen many jail house conversions) when he accepted the invitation on closing day to accept Jesus as Lord and Savior. Ouch! Boy did the cronies explode into uncontrollable rage, they weren’t skeptical, they knew they genuine article, knew and feared it! Cronies cursed, they spit, they ranted and raved, and they sizzled (but not as much as they will in the not too far future, hee, hee.). I disregarded them and no one else noticed them, being invisible and all! Boy that added petroleum to the fire; no one likes their anger to go unnoticed! They lost a puppet, someone they could manipulate to their evil wishes. But Mike won. Mike was found. My job here was done. On my palm pilot I copied his name, deleted it from the lost list and pasted it to the saved list. Boy I love this gadget.

My next stop? A nursing home. Here was a dying woman recently placed on hospice who’d been praying for forty four years. Forty four years of faithfully praying for her lost children. This prayer request had appeared on my desk repeatedly for just as many years. Now it’s time has come to be answered. Not all prayers get immediate resolution but they all do get resolved. It’s a shame our experience with time varies from realm to realm. These poor creatures of clay, dirt, and mud have no way to conceptualize eternity, timelessness. Not while they are in their bodies of clay, dirt and mud. But talk about tenacity. This lady had bushels of tenacity, she was relentless in her prayers. Now she was going to be so blessed! Thank you Jesus, I muttered to myself, for letting me be a part of this.

Ellen was in her eighties now, her mind was gone, ravaged by Alzheimer’s, all recent events erased from memory, but the long term memories were still there. Illness couldn’t claim her relationship with the God of her youth, the God she’d worshiped for over eight decades, and she still spoke to him, though those around her assumed she was demented when her lips moved in silent prayer.

Ellen called out her children’s names, one by one begging God to let her see them one more time. Her sister, Carol, hardened over the years, sat by Ellen’s bedside shaking her head. “Good grief Ellen, how can you call on God after all these years? He let you down! He let us down! Stop it!”

It was time to bring closure to this ordeal so I texted the office for help. The reply came back swiftly. “Sorry, busy cleaning up mess in office.” Attached to the message was a picture of papers strewn over the floor and file cabinets laying about the office, while co workers tried to sort out which papers belonged on which desk.

Oooh! I pounded my forehead with my palm. I really can’t help it if I was blessed with such big wings. After some more texting I finally got through to someone willing to give a hand then I retreated outside and trained my eyes on the sky from wince would come my reply. I was looking for four puffs of …wisps of …there they were! Four dancing, zig zagging wisps of clouds; one large, three smaller powder puff shaped, dancing, frolicking fluffy white apparitions making their way downward unnoticed by humanity. The three small clouds lighted on their feet in front of me, all glowing with excitement and playfulness. Not a trace of pain or remembrance of their last earthly ordeal was registered on their countenance; they just had plain exhilaration plastered on their childlike faces. Their escort landed next to them a few seconds later, winded from the games of tag and catch me if you can, they played on the trip down. After all she wasn’t a young angel anymore; let’s see the earth was created…when? Oh, no I'm not going to be the one to reveal that secret! Anyway we were even older than the foundations of the earth. I remember having to dodge the flying rocks and debris created from the big bang. It was a blessing to have fantastically large wings then, to shield me from flying projectiles.

And now i was once again grateful for my large wings so that I could embrace the three little wisps that were clawing at me for attention yelling excitedly, "Is it time? Is it really time?" Such exuberance!

I pointed them towards the nursing home window where they caught sight of their mother lying in bed, lips moving in prayer, eyes locked on a picture set on her night stand next to their aunt Carol who was still attempting to orient Ellen to time and place, trying to get Ellen to understand that her children wouldn't be coming to the nursing home, that God had abandoned them all forty years ago. She was such a kill joy, not letting Ellen harbor any hopes of seeing her children again. The picture in question was taken days before the three children were mysteriously abducted and jointly murdered and buried in a yet undiscovered location. I was there that day, to shepherd them home to the great shepherd, but not before I deposited their slayer on the ocean's floor chained with a mill stone attached to his neck where he resides to this day and for all eternity being shown the mercy he exhibited while on earth.

"Oh, look, she still has our pictures!" Janet the oldest at nine announced stepping through the wall into her mother's room, followed by her young brother age seven and sister age five.

Ellen's rheumy eyes abruptly focused on her visitors and clarity returned to her. "Carol, they're here! My babies are here! Praise God!"

Carol, truly exasperated, practically yelled in her frustration, "Ellen, they died years ago when God left us flat and dry with no answers. Don't talk to me about praising God!"

Whoa, that outburst kindled my ire causing me to flap my wings, my big wings, which sent the treasured framed photo crashing to the floor, shattering glass everywhere. Carol jerked in reaction to the destruction of the frame and bent over to retrieve the faded Kodak paper.

Suddenly inspired and not calculating the risks I decided to react on my own, imagine that! As Carol rescued the photo I allowed the images of Janet, Greg and Judy to come to life, but only briefly, leaving room for Carol to doubt her own eyes. Gasping she let the photo flutter back to the floor while she exclaimed," Ellen, you're right, they are here!" I'd never seen anyone so far from dying turn so white. I had to suppress my inner satisfaction.

Ellen however was unable to respond to Carol's affirmation as she had stepped outside of her mortal shell and was embracing her three long lost children (might I add, lost to her, not us here in heaven). These joyful reunions always caused me to weep like a baby. Hey, its ex-mortals that can't cry on this side of life, we angels however come with unlimited supplies of joyful tears.

I couldn't wait to leave gloomy-gus Carol behind and get to the office to put the finishing touches to my reports.

Boss visited me at my new cubicle, the one my fellow laborers set up for me far, far from their desks where my beautiful, large wings could spread out as much as they wanted without causing collateral damage. I accepted this cubicle in lieu of the ghastly aternative that was suggested; getting my wings clipped. They even actually hung a pair of framed shearing scissors here to keep me fore warned. The purpose of Boss's visit was to congratulate me on three jobs well done today.

"I’m sorry, sir, I don't mean to be disrespectful, but there were only two, Mike J. and Ellen."

"I definitely mean three. Look at the next name on your list." Boss encouraged tapping my stack of assignments with the rusty nail he always carried around with him.

I picked up the top sheet, it was the horrible vague prayer request for the cousin of a milkman’s sister’s nieces schoolmate. After reading the submitted supplication, the one that I had earlier slipped to the bottom of my stack, I frowned deeply, still not understanding. Boy am I obtuse.

Boss said one word, “Carol."

Oh my gosh. I hid my face behind my wings. Ellen's sister. After Ellen died, with a smile on her lips, Carol recommitted herself to Jesus on the basis of having seen her nieces and nephew one last time! On the basis of seeing Ellen's answer to forty years of faithful praying. What I had done to be spiteful had yielded positive results. I started to apologize profusely for acting unprofessional but Boss put a halt to that, with him there are no accidents up here in heaven's lost and found department.
math 18:6
mark 9:2
gal. 3:3
titus 2:14
Heb 1:14
Rev. 20:10
Rev 21:8

thanksgiving day reflections

Thanksgiving reflections

Well, that didn't last long, I thought as the door closed on the last of my Thanksgiving Day guests, if you can call your own kids guests. Obviously this wasn't anything like the original Thanksgiving that lasted for days when the Indians traveled far distances, bringing their portable homes and families to the impromptu gala organized by the pilgrims to thank God for their new friends who had provided gratefully received farming and survival instruction in the new world. It wasn’t even anything like the more current Thanksgivings I’d grown up with in the earlier part of the twentieth century.

After clearing the tragic scene of dining chaos in the kitchen, (a scene from Julia Childs meets King Kong) I sat down on the couch next to my mom, highly disheartened in the outcome of my Thanksgiving experience. Days of cooking and cleaning, pulling out the holiday decorations, family recipes, videos, games and activities, all ended in a ten minute feeding frenzy so my kids could make it to an afternoon movie, a movie they had sprung an invitation to on me when they arrived. Sure I could have gone, but at my age my body needed more time for digestion plus I needed advance warning for acts of spontaneity; weeks of advance warning was recommended for geriatric spontaneity. Who goes to movies on Thanksgiving Day? It’s just not natural. I wouldn't see them again today. After the flick they'd go back to their own homes, minutes away, not over hill and dale. And even though they resided close by it would be some time before they would revisit. Christmas day actually, so they could unwrap presents that I had carefully purchased and return the day after for something they wanted, not something I thought they would enjoy, or something I had enjoyed buying for them.

I was definitely having a moment of self-pity. Loneliness was setting in along with feelings of abandonment. Holiday let down. Let down from loss of company and companionship. I crossed the room to pick up my fifteen year old Shih Tzu, Lefty, squeezed him close to my heart, then set him on the couch next to me and reached over my mom's head for the old fashioned photo album on the end table behind her, you know, the kind that doesn’t automatically change pictures or require batteries and computer proficiency. Mom smiled back at me with the familiar dimples and lipstick stained lips. At least she was still here to stroll down memory lane.

"I wish we were back at your house doing this, mom." I said flipping through the photos of holidays past.

I found the photos where I had spent the night at my parent’s house in my old room with my kids camped out on the floor in their theme sleeping bags of spider man and wonder woman, sleeping bags made for slumber parties but not practical for outdoor camping. The holidays used to be fun back then before life’s realities hit. I had always looked forward to going to mom and dad’s, spending the night, being waited on hand and foot while they complained that I could help out just a little, hey, I did only help out just a little. There was a picture of me as I washed dishes; I was caught off guard by dad who wanted to record that moment to prove to his friends I wasn’t ready for disability yet. I had hoped I was continuing a family tradition, looking ahead to the years when my kids would come here for the night and spend the whole next day, no matter how close they lived. At least the tradition of waiting on them hand and foot had endured.

Then there were the pictures of mom, dad, my brothers, me and my kids playing games and watching football till our stomachs shrunk enough for desserts: pies, cakes, turkey sandwiches (okay that’s not really a dessert.) Pictures of the family laying around the house with bottles of antacid on nearby tables. What memories.

Finally I came to the pictures that always saddened me. “Hey mom, here is the last time we spent Thanksgiving together at your house.” I said tipping the album in her direction for her to view. There Mom was on Kodak paper, looking tired but affecting a smile for the camera. I glanced up at her, the smile she had now was more believable because she was more rested since it had become my turn to do all the drudgery. The torch had been passed down to me twenty some years ago when breast cancer struck. Surgery, chemo and radiation had wiped out Mom’s energy reserves. In this picture she was in a wheel chair next to dad who was holding the cooked turkey up like a hunting trophy (in a roasting pan with bubbling juices, yum, yum, yummy). I wonder where all the Polaroid’s went of the pilgrims standing next to arrow pierced deer skewered over open fires.

I remember that last Thanksgiving at home, all the out of town family had come and stayed for a few days and used my bedroom so I had actually had to come over the day of Thanksgiving instead of having my warm fuzzy sleep over and hot cooked breakfast of pancakes and eggs, well, I still had the pancake and eggs but they weren't served to me in bed and I had to make them myself. How horrible.

"Mom, I'm sure glad they all came that year," I said to the smiling face next to me on my left, while I patted Lefty to the right of me. He was named Lefty because he'd been the puppy left over from his mom’s only litter. I had just put his dad to sleep eight months ago after sixteen years of allegiance, Lefty's mom had died unnaturally- natural at thirteen four years earlier. God, how I missed them.

So here I sat, on Thanksgiving Day, all alone with my mom and dog comparing past experiences, auditing this thanksgiving with my past and stamping a big failure sign on it, while my kids were out having fun without me, (yeah, I know I was invited but that’s beside the point.) Doing all this reminiscing was letting me down big time. Mom just smiled at me while Lefty slept at my side, recently released from the seizures he'd been having of late. There was something in Mom's smile. Something that said, "Go, spend time with your kids while you still have time." Mom wouldn't say that out loud, not when she was so good at conveying messages with her eyes; eyes that could produce more guilt than any vocabulary in Webster’s dictionary.

I snapped the album shut and decided it was time to start a new tradition, either movie going with my kids or aging alone. Heck I couldbe spontaneous if I wanted. I spontaneously jumped up and prepared to go to the movies, glancing at my watch I determined if I drove at my normal speed I'd make it on time. (My normal speed being slightly higher than the limit by about 15 miles per hour). What officer would give me a ticket on Thanksgiving? One that had to work on Thanksgiving. I'd chance it.

Meeting mom's eyes I laid a kiss on her cold cheek leaving another set of lip prints on the glass in the picture frame. Then I picked up the little wooden box Lefty was encased in and laid it on top of the other polished oak boxes that contained his dad and mom, Cuzn Buz and Nikkie. A whole family of love contained in crematory containers; piling up rapidly to remind me that dust we are, to dust we’ll return. And with no certainty of when.

"As much as I miss you guys I think I'd rather spend the rest of the day with the living" I sighed as I switched off the lights and closed the front door behind me.

Mom stared at Lefty. Lefty stared at Mom. Nikki and Cuzn Buz stared at them both. "What does she mean by that?" Mom quizzed as she ruffled Lefty's neck fur then patted her restored chest wall. "Doesn't she know we're more alive and well now than ever?" Lefty, recently freed ten days ago from his tortured body, wagged his whole physique in agreement then butted heads playfully with his parents.

As I drove off to the theater to be with my kids for the rest of Thanksgiving, my mom rounded up my three beloved pets, dogs that had been revamped to perfect health along with her and shooed them on ahead; back to that special place in the sky called Heaven until the next time they were summoned by photographs or memories. Or better yet, till I was joyfully reunited with them.

Ugly puked on Christmas

“Deck the hall with boughs of holly, tra la la la la la,” I sang merrily, if not horribly off key while I watched the help I hired decorate my yard. I had spared no expense on tasteful yard ornaments to alert thieves that there was a possibility of a good haul at this address. Of course that meant the neighborhood crime patrol would have to be even more on the ball till this joyful season came to an end and society had to pay for their mistakes..er…purchases.

When the last light was hung and I turned on the electrical juice there were aw’s and oh’s from family and neighbors. It was only fair they showered my endeavors with compliments, after all, hadn’t I lavished praise on them for their tastefully elegant projects even though mine was far more superior. Lots of home owners registered with a fifty dollar entrance fee to be illegible for the jackpot and I was sure to win the prize this year and not just because I had donated to several of the judges favorite charities, (themselves), but because I had hired an extremely talented college student, majoring in landscaping, to do the manual labor. I checked the bylaws, professional help was forbidden, nothing was said about contributing to a student’s education, a minor over sight I’m sure would appear as an amendment to the rules for next year!

With the external Christmas decorating done I was able to participate in the nightly caroling and scrutinize the other houses in the friendly neighborhood (cut throat) contest, some of which would offer some stiff competition if I hadn't bribed the judges and was assured of winning, unless...No. No one else would dare to out bribe me! That would be so unethical!

Up the street where I drove to meet up with the traveling singers a crowd was gathering beside a corner lot. Hmmm. I pulled over to investigate and nearly slammed into some parked cars. My central nervous system was sending messages to my stomach that said, “Give it all up, baby”. Luckily I hadn't had much to eat yet, just some cookies, punch, hot chocolate, spinach dip, little party wieners, cheese, crackers, carrot cake, layered Mexican bean dip, Fritos, and rolls with barbequed brisket served at my work’s Christmas party. What? That was just a light snack!

I joined my friends on the yard across the street amazed at the grumbling being done by even some of my nicer buddies, the ones who had suggested the contest for the prettiest yard; the friends whose main mantra always was, “If you can’t say something nice about someone, lie!”

“I just can’t believe anyone could be this substandard on purpose, it’s as though they’re mocking us!” Ester said, shaking her head and tsking, arms crossed firmly against her chest.

“Has anyone talked to the owner?” I asked, “Maybe their yard was vandalized.” It actually looked like someone had taken trash from the city dump and plunked it down here. Tinsel trees of all shapes and hues were planted around the yard with even more different colored tinsel sprinkled on them , half blown up Christmas props and stuffed animals with unevenly tied ribbons and large candy canes were seated about, asymmetrical handmade signs sloppily painted with “support our troops” were leaning against the house walls and bushes, lights were draped on the playground equipment, a large stuffed bear was dressed in army fatigues holding a flag, card board boxes wrapped with old torn wrapping paper were placed disproportionately around the yard. Nothing was balanced or pleasing to the eye, except for maybe the Grinch’s, who would have appreciated this slap in the face to our Christmas spirit.

What was the “support our troops” stuff about? This is Christmas, a time of cheer and good will, let’s not take away from the King and turn this into a political crusade. We hear about the war in the Middle East daily on the news, Christmas is a time to unwind and celebrate Jesus, to forget about things that upset us, like this yard is doing on a grand scale!

“Here comes Meredith now,” Ester announced.

Meredith recrossed the street without even checking for cars, getting hit and being knocked unconscious was her only hope of erasing the ghastly image that we were all facing.

“Well, I couldn’t get the mother to come down stairs and talk to me,” Meredith said. “Some half starved, unwashed looking kids answered the door and said their mom has been up stairs in bed for days. She’s probably been on a drinking binge no doubt, that’s also probably why the yard looks like this. Poor kids, obviously only a drunk could decorate this way.”

The critical assembly just clucked their tongues in disgust and commenced planning a reprisal. We wouldn’t let some inconsiderate fool crush our neighborhood’s Christmas beatification venture.

Well needless to say the next few days were spent organizing a petition to deliver to the home owner asking her to disassemble her yard. Maybe we could shame her into cleaning up her act before the judging commenced. There was even a thinly veiled threat to contact child protective services. Now wouldn’t that be a lovely gift for the kids, three daily meals, baths and clean home? We also thoughtfully slipped in a card for Alcoholics Anonymous, after all it was the Christmas season and we should be supportive.

We were all at Meredith’s one night putting the final touches on the petition when her doorbell rang introducing a well dressed lady come to pay a visit, or maybe add her name to the petition. Meredith, after a short indistinct conversation with the newly arrived visitor ushered her to the headquarters of the Public Flogging Committee, (oh wouldn’t the puritans have been proud of us), where we had all been whispering among ourselves wondering if it was another prospective petition signer.

“This lady is the mother in law of our..of the drunk…of the ,” Meredith attempted to introduce the stranger, her face was red and flushed (hot flashes have no mercy), but all she could do was stutter and gesture aimlessly. What had gone wrong? Had this lady threatened Meredith somehow? Had the enemy’s camp sent reinforcements? This lady was apparently well to do judging from her crisp clothes, Prada shoes and Dooney Burke handbag, (probably garage sale finds!)

“Allow me,” Stanger requested, “I’m Silvia Martinez, and my son was married to Dorothy.” Was married, oh they got divorced so maybe this woman did want in on the petition. “I mean he is married…well I mean… he was killed last week in Afghanistan in a suicide bombing, you see he was stationed there in the army, his third tour, he was in the reserves and they called….” Stranger broke down completely, mascara blending in with the blush on her cheeks making train tracks. “And poor Dorothy has gone into such a depression the kids attempted to cheer her up by decorating the yard themselves hoping to get their mother back. I just don’t know what to do if….I’ve come back to town to try to help and I heard about this petition…” By now we had all jumped up from the table, retracted our claws and were in a group hug with Silvia as the centerpiece, crying and listening to the ordeal she’d been through and of poor retched Dorothy’s solitary suffering, offering condolences and suggestions.

Sometime after Silvia had left we all sat around a box of Kleenex and an overflowing trash receptacle blame throwing. How could we have let Satan harden our hearts so? Boy were we mad at him, after all, he was responsible for our unchristian behavior. Never underestimate the power of guilt because now the mission of our Public Flogging committee changed tracks from putting Dorothy in the stockade to providing neighborly assistance. The petition sat on the table in front of us like a bowl of Ebola germs we didn't want to touch. We tapped our manicured nails nervously and guiltily on the table top filled with remorse at acting so quickly without knowing all the facts. Apparently I had a heart after all, go figure.

We had only assumed we were wrapping things up at Meredith's that night. We divided the names up from the soul poisoning petition and one by one called and scratched through each name and replaced the names on a list with volunteers for child care, counseling, and food delivery to the Atrocious yard's residents. And finally we ripped the petition into so many little pieces all the kings men and all the kings horses wouldn’t be able to repair it.

The contest night finally arrived and judges rode through the neighborhood inspecting everyone's creative art work and displays. They acted noticeably pressed to come up with a winner, drumming their fingers against their temples. I played dumb knowing i had the prize in the bag, knowing days ago who the winner would be; after all I passed the big bills under the table!

The neighborhood and the contestants gathered at the corner park to consume unlawful amounts of refreshments and hear the judge’s verdict. I had no difficulty being over confident and lots of difficulty concealing my confidence. I could hardly wait for the winners name to be announced. Third and second place were announced first and the recipients of those spots acted graciously grateful. What an act, I know one of them is the worst looser ever to walk the earth and will be found somewhere tomorrow revealing opinions of a fixed contest, a holiday conspiracy, well I can’t condemn her, she’d be right.

And now….drum roll please….the winner is …..The owner of the atrocious yard! What a miracle, they hadn’t even entered the contest! A deafening cheer went up throughout the park as everyone hooted and hollered agreement; not many were surprised having received late night or early morning phone calls from the Reformed Members of the Public Flogging Committee. Some neighbors, scattered throughout the throng who hadn’t been in the loo,p started to protest till someone nearby who’d been in the know whispered (loudly over the din) the explanation to them causing them to join in the jubilation. Even second and third place seemed pleased with the judge’s decree. I know I was.

The judges had taken my bribes and added it to the pot for Dorothy at my request (and I had only implied I would publically repent of my crime, a crime that would ruin their honest reputations!) We had all decided the night of Silvia’s visit that this was the best gift of all to the Christ child, to honor the efforts of the emotionally crippled children who had tried to revive their mother while honoring their father. It certainly wouldn’t make up for the loss of a husband and father but what better way to support our troops and those left behind. We all gathered together with candles in hand to parade over to Dorothy’s house and surprise her with Christmas gifts for the children, food for Christmas dinner and a whopping $5000; and loads of offers of friendship and support.

Meanwhile up on the other side of the rainbow a young man who had sacrificed his life for freedom had been squatting to look downward so he could follow his family’s progress through the cycle of grief. Satisfied they would recover he stood at attention and joined other solders in formation, soldiers representing all armed forces, soldiers out of uniform because they were wearing crowns instead of helmets. The eclectic troop proceeded to march in precise military fashion towards a throne of enormous proportions bathed in such brilliant light that they couldn’t see the occupant. They halted at the foot of the throne in front of another young man who had sacrificed his life for the whole world to have freedom from sin and peace with God. The soldiers saluted, reporting from duty, not for duty and tossed their crowns into the air to land at the feet of the king, their job done and their lives beginning.

So much for separating Christmas from any political crusade!

the kitchen table

I smothered a yawn before standing up from my morning nap then made my way out the door with the rest of the salmon swimming upstream. It seemed everyone was more eager heading towards the exits than they had been going towards the entrances earlier. I was beginning to wonder why I bothered getting out of bed on Sunday morning; Sunday school and church were the same old same old, I could just replay them in my mind stretched out on my soft, Tempur- Pedic mattress and not mess with the chore of getting dressed up to take a snooze during the service. I had actually gotten church sleeping down to a fine art, I doubt anyone near me even knew I was sleeping, I thought, ignorant of the fact that I snore! But even that was alright; unless the congregants near me had their hearing aids turned up no body heard me.

I used to look forward to Sunday school so I could learn something new or debate (play the devil’s advocate) some questionable scriptures to invigorate the thinking process but lately it’s turned into an old hen’s meeting room. I get enough of that at work; Sunday school should be less worldly. That’s just my opinion for all it’s worth.

The church service is so routine once the singing is over (and its always the traditional songs the white hairs liked, since the majority rules) I’m able to manage a semi productive state of consciousness after I study the weekly bulletin looking for volunteer opportunities I didn’t expect to find. Just a list of thank you’s from survivors of those recently departed, who had received condolence cards; with an occasional mention of a new grandchild; the parents attended other places of worship.

The monotony was killing me. I just couldn’t figure out why I was the only one affected till I shook hands with some members on the way out one afternoon, (in the middle of a summer melt down) their hands were so cold I discovered I was the only member who still had a pulse rate higher than 50! I wasn’t in church, I was in limbo, and this building was the midpoint between heaven and earth! Eeeek, to quote a once popular movie, “I see dead people and they don’t even know their dead!” I quickly sanitized my hands and drove home for the last time from this mausoleum.

I had no inner qualms the next few Sunday (twelve Sundays actually) sitting at my kitchen table reading from one of my many bibles, all King James, but in different commentaries. I was getting more worshipping God by myself while drinking coffee than I had in the brick building on the corner of the street. Yet something was missing….interaction. I prayed for guidance.

My son called one morning while at sat at my kitchen table drinking coffee, eating cinnamon rolls and having my devotional to inform me he had joined a church, after his announcement, when I recovered from choking on my coffee, I asked if he had the wrong number! When I ascertained he really was my son I fell on my face in gratitude to answered prayers, thank you God for finding him again, and his wife also. I had prayed for this event for years and years and …you get the picture! The only fly in the soup was the denomination; it wasn’t the one I had raised my children in. Oh well, at least he had his feet back in the door, maybe he would expand his horizons till he joined a proper, more acceptable church. I kept praying for him.

He then had the nerve to keep inviting me to come with him to his church. No, I’d had enough of boring church services to last me a terrestrial life time, God and I were doing all right at my kitchen table, but I was genuinely pleased that he had found the Lord again after his years of dessert wanderings. After all, anything he learned now wasn’t repetitive at this point as it had become for me.

Buck, my son, became almost annoying; every time I ran into him he would mention his church attendance, as if I cared to hear every little detail, knowing he was going was more than enough for me. He even turned down some family activities in lieu of church! He was hot for God. If my old church had kept the fires burning I never would have walked out.

Alright, in favor of getting some relieve from his pious harassment I finally agreed to meet Buck and Sissy for a Friday night church gathering, well, it did include a dinner and I had to eat sometime. (Seriously, if you saw me you’d know I didn’t have a problem finding time to eat!)

I was instantly impressed by the atmosphere that slapped me in the face when I crossed the threshold of the entrance hall. There were people milling about drinking coffee they got from a refreshment station that included sweets, my favorite ingredient of the food chain. Everyone came up to say hi to me, not in a stampede mind you, that would have scared me off as shy as I am, but one at a time as I hunted for my son and his wife. Everyone seemed to know him, even though he was a relatively new member. I found him in the back, (how clever, he made me transverse through the crowded foyer to get the feel of things on my own, I couldn’t fault his conniving ways, I knew who he inherited them from!) He had also invited his step brothers, who had brought their kids.

The service was held in the atrium, it was a come as you are meeting they held every Friday night, and the turnout was phenomenal for a Friday night, you know, date night, family night, travel night, payday night. I didn’t know it was come as you are meeting or I would have dressed more casual, like my daughter in law who was in her pajamas! Well to be honest, they were the kind that you really had to guess at, so its not as bad as it sounds. It’s just that “I” knew they were her sleepies, and I couldn’t wait for blackmail time!

Okay, I enjoyed myself so much I came back Sunday morning for Sunday school. (Should I have told you this when you were sitting down?) The class was enormous and organized around a kitchen table! Bigger than the ones that are in average households but a kitchen table none the less, hence the name “Around the Kitchen Table Class.” (Okay, maybe they had several tables joined together) They had my favorites there also, coffee and treats. It was informal and organized at the same time, go figure. The table even provided writing pads and pens for note takers like me who always forgets to bring writing pads and pens! And the teacher, well the teacher was the whole class. I learned that every Sunday someone gets a chance to present something about God (or what he expects of us) that they feel would appeal to the class. The topics are so diverse there’s not a chance of getting bored! There goes my nap time.

A clipboard was passed around during the lesson to update members on things like….volunteer work and upcoming activities! I poured over the pages with drool running down my chin; how attractive! There were birthing sets to produce; clean blankets, examining gloves, and disinfectant soap sent to third world countries that needed sanitary equipment for mothers in delivery (made at the kitchen table during class), crafts to make and sell to raise money for charities in the community (made at the kitchen table during class), homebound members that needed chores done, homeless people that needed servers at dinner time in a local shelter, imminent holidays that needed supplies and lastly volunteers to host dispossessed women that come to the church one night a week for a safe place to get a meal, a shower and sleep over before being sent off with a warm breakfast from the kitchen table.

I pulled out my IPhone. Not to rudely do some texting or game playing but to schedule into my calendar things that appealed to me. I was amazed; I now had church activities scheduled into my life. Things to be done for God or in God’s name! Outreach. Community service. Fellowship. Worshipping the Son with my son.

Needless to say I started coming back to church, and what’s more, my dad came with me. Being semi homebound he hadn’t been to church in years, but the Friday night thing became a pot of gold found at the end of a rainbow for dad, or found at the end of his spiritually dead life. Ezekiel didn’t see anything when he witnessed the valley of dried bones being reunited compared to dad’s revival! Dad had been a choir boy in his youth and never missed a Sunday that he was home from war or temporary tours of duty when I was growing up but his deteriorating health conditions have slowed him down considerably making getting out of bed in the mornings a tremendous chore, but for the Friday night come as you are special he was able to get into the foyer with his walker, no frightening stair way limited his access, and he was able to participate in communion for the first time in decades. His estrangement from communion had always vexed me so I knew it bothered him. Knowing he couldn’t eat or drink dad stayed in his seat during the communion service the first time he attended. The servers, unaware that dad couldn’t eat or drink due to a feeding tube issue, brought communion to where he was sitting. When he was offered the body and blood of Jesus he touched it to his lips and disposed of it in a Kleenex. Wipe that shock from your face, God understands. (And apparently so did the communion servers, which meant a lot to him!)

Now when I sit at my kitchen table for my time with God it’s just for hors d'oeuvres before I go to the bigger kitchen table for a full course meal. I just pray that no one from my past learns I switched denominations or that maybe my new church will convert over to my old denomination. Don’t laugh, apparently God hears my prayers, after all we (God and me) got my son back into his fellowship!!! And he in turn got his step brothers, me, his granddad and eventually his sister there. What a fireball.

Luke 9:49-50
John 1:43-51
Rom 10:15
Rev 3:14-22

now where did i put that

I felt my blood pressuring rising. With the rise in blood pressure I felt my patience level evaporating. I know I had them here somewhere! I lifted another sofa cushion, looked in my purse once more, and toured the house again scanning shelf and table surfaces. Nothing. It’s always when I’m in a hurry, never when I’ve got time to spare. To be absolutely honest, it seems I’m always in a hurry.

“Here they are,” My husband called, from another room.

“Where were they? “ I asked snatching the set of keys ungratefully from his clutch.

“By the back door,” he answered as I swished out of the house without a courteous thank you. No time for common civility, I was already running late.

My first stop: the bank. I waited in line for the first available teller, and of course I waited patiently, not! When I was finally granted access to the Supreme Being (making a little more than minimum wage) behind the counter who had access to my money I frantically searched my purse and wallet for the check I had intended to cash. You think I could have been ready after waiting twenty minutes in line! But no, I was sure the check was in my possession. It seems I only thought I pocketed the darn thing before leaving home.

After my pointless trip to the bank I headed to the dollar store to get some cleaning supplies and doggy treats. At the checkout I opened my wallet to retrieve my bank card. No. I opened my wallet to find an empty slot where my bank card had been till yesterday when I got gas and replaced the card in my pants pocket till I got home where I had intended to reunite it with my wallet. I really had planned to put it back! I had to use a credit card instead for my purchases. At least I hadn’t misplaced that yet, but there was still time, the day was relatively young and I wasn’t.

At length I reached my dad’s house. I was taking him for a movie and exercise, which consisted of walking from the far end of the parking lot with his walker to the ticket stand. Every little bit of muscle usage kept him fit as an eighty four year old fiddle. Several kind (nosy butt-in-skies) people pointed out the handicapped parking spots I could have used. Did they think the handicap sticker on my car was because I was legally blind? With strained graciousness I politely thanked them and between gritted teeth explained that exercise has kept dad able to stay at home instead of in a nursing home on Medicare spending their tax dollars. The looks I got. Don’t blame me that people can’t mind their own business and I have to set them straight. They managed to get some chuckles however as they watched me hunt for my movie gift cards; I had to lose my place in line to trek back to my car (way at the end of the parking lot) to get them but at least I had them. This day can’t end soon enough!

At home again! My two dogs, a Shih-Tzu and black lab, met me at the door and were all giddy about the prospect of a neighborhood jaunt. How could I refuse their liquid black eyes all soft and wistful, plus I couldn’t deny the pleasure a relaxing stroll would bring my hassled soul. But first, I must find that mislaid check and bank card! After thirty minutes I found the check stuck between other papers in my (un)organized desk caddy and after frisking several of my pants I finally stumbled on the bank card on top of my make up case. Good place for it.

The dogs. They still were looking forward to their neighborhood patrol, now I had lost interest, but not heart, I couldn’t disappoint them, what a pushover I was for hang dog expressions. Two dogs, one leash. I won’t assault your ears with the words that exploded reflexively from my lips. While being followed by two exuberantly barking canines I opened drawers, closed drawers, searched the same counter tops I searched earlier for my car keys, looked under sofas while being licked in the face, inside dog kennels, under doggie mattresses while being sniffed in the....never mind, any where a dog might hide a chew toy, any where I might hide a chew toy. I found it! Where? Under the passenger car seat, (don’t ask!)

Today I’ve lost my patience, temper, manners and everything in between but thank heavens I haven’t lost my bed, I thought as I crawled exhaustedly under the covers, being thankful that tomorrow was another day. My eyes popped open at that concept. I don’t need another day like this! “Oh, God, please make tomorrow better!” I pleaded as I plummeted into slumber with the feeling of the all too familiar gastric reflux producing a vague ache in my sternum.

I awoke peacefully feeling absolutely wonderful. All my aches and pains had vanished, I felt years younger and pounds lighter, so light I felt as though I was floating on air. I stretched to shake my husband awake and found and empty space. Lots of empty space. The whole house in fact had vanished along with my aches, pains and pounds. I wasn't in Kansas anymore! Or anywhere close to the planet earth. There were people milling about in white gowns forming a line in front the largest pearl I’ve ever seen. Man, the oyster that formed that pearl had to have been big enough to end world hunger all by itself.

I hadn't gone to sleep with indigestion! If I’d known I was going to die in my sleep I would have dressed better. Another thought hit me as I watched the shrinking line. I patted myself down; nothing. No purse, no pockets, no underwear; no place to carry my proof of.....I ran to the edge of the cloud and attempted to dive back down. Bong. Bong. Each attempt to dive downwards was met by an impassable current of air causing me to belly flop. I was trapped. Trapped in heaven! Trapped in heaven waiting to enter the great white mother of all pearls.

An angel with a clipboard walked...(floated)... by and gave me a good long stare. "Something wrong?"

"You bet, I need to get down there, I forgot something very important!" I begged, trying desperately to part the clouds so I could get a view of my home, er, my old home.

"Darling, your time on earth is done, no return trips allowed."

"But I don't have my proof of...." I felt a panic attack rising from the tips of my toes to my head.

"Proof of what?"

"I need to go find my proof of salvation!" I begged. “I don't remember where I placed it!

The angel glanced at the papers in her hand and giggled, "Oh, you're the one that loses everything, you were actually our favorite reality show, we’ll miss you" she said, then patted me on the shoulder comfortingly, "But rest assured darling, the one thing you can never lose is your salvation, God has fool proofed that, you’ve been permanently stamped, sealed and delivered to his kingdom, now will you please take your place in line. Oh, and welcome to eternity.”

Wow, I was so relieved to know that for once I had been unable to lose something that I over looked the fact, (barely), that my first encounter with an angel resulted in my practically being called a fool.

I looked at the row of former people ahead of me, remembered how much I hated lines down there and sighed. Well, hopefully this was the last line ever I would have to transverse I thought as I marched towards the Pearl of all Pearls, unmindful that the halo that had rested on my skull had slid off and sunk deep down under cover of the clouds while the angel watched, delightedly. Apparently some things never change, even in heaven!

John 10: 28-29
Ephesians 1:3-6
Ephesians 1 :13-14

how squirelly

How Squirrely

There the three of us stood mesmerized, with nothing better to do, observing the antics of a squirrel. Actually we couldn’t do anything better than observing the actions of one of God’s cutest creations. All right, God doesn’t make mistakes so everything he’s made is cute… to someone or something. This particular cutie was attempting to reach a pecan beyond its reach on a very frail limb by doing yoga or Pilates, with very bad form, it has obviously not watched the self-help DVD’s.

I was recording this hilarious moment on my cell phone (isn’t it great what these things can do.) so I could preserve it for posterity, or win a prize on America’s Funniest Home Videos; why shouldn’t I prosper from God’s creations? He is after all my father, and some of his wealth should trickle down to me.

Oh my gosh, the struggle for the evasive pecan suddenly became a struggle for life or death when the squirrel plummeted downward into our pool! Down and down he went. His nose dive into the water (done rump first) was as ungraceful as his attempts to grab what was apparently to him, the only surviving pecan left in the world.

Cindy, my athletic daughter, acting quickly, leapt outdoors, grabbed the huge spatula used to filter unwanted leaves from the water, scooped up Rocky, (yes we named him Rocky) and tossed him unceremoniously onto the yard in a wet heap of now not so cute yuckiness. All the while Scruffy our terrier was yapping and jumping, under the illusion he'd just been served breakfast. Fast food breakfast. Very fast food. Scruffy pranced about excitedly as his meal reached the safety of the tree. Safety. The same tree he had fallen from had now become Rocky's escape route. Once he reached the pinnacle he chattered some furious incomprehensible obscenities back at Scruffy while licking his fur dry.

"Mom, did you get that!" Cindy asked, excitedly.

I replayed the video. The first half was exceptionally well documented, and then sky, a mesh of frantic, well pedicured feet (handsomely paid for from my wallet at the salon), ground, kitchen walls, empty pool, empty tree, and the new neighbor’s U-Haul, and finally a disappointed pooch sitting on his haunches staring up at his retreating meal; but no sign of Rocky. He was faster than a speeding bullet for a wet scared squirrel.

"Well, it looks like we've made and lost our first million in two minutes." I stated. “I wonder how that will look on our taxes." Dejectedly, I tossed the camera/phone aside. .

Our new neighbors observed all this with amusement over the hedges that separated our houses as we exchanged wordless acknowledgment of each other’s presence before they returned to the tedious task of unloading box after box; box after box we couldn’t see, and not for lack of trying. They were parked as close to the garage entrance as possible. Did they really think the neighbors (us) would be spellbound by what they were unloading? Oh yeah, that’s what had brought Cindy and me to the back door window in the first  place, I guess we are a tad nosey;  hey, we’re woman, hear us roar.

Over the following days we were privileged to unlimited appearances from Rocky; perched on the roof, a nearby tree or electrical wire or preening himself (yes, we could tell Rocky was a he) on the top the wooden swing frame across from the pool, where we had nailed corn on the cob made especially for his enjoyment; actually, we took pleasure in watching him eat as much as he enjoyed eating. He would flop belly down, extremities dangling off both sides of the wooden bar, and swish his tail lazily about constantly keeping his eyes on us as we went about our business of energetically relaxing in the patio chairs, pretending to not notice him. He never ventured on any structure that placed him directly over the ring of water.  He wasn’t the least bit fooled by Scruffy’s. sham of ignoring him;  well aware that Scruffy, the trickster, was hoping to lull Rocky, the dinner, into false sense of security that would end up as shredded meat on canine teeth.

As the summer heat progressed, drying up neglected bird baths throughout the neighborhood, Rocky would make his way down the tree trunk ever on the alert for Scruffy’s scent. Cindy and I would quietly monitor his stealthy movements encouraging him with prayers as he edged towards Scruffy’s water bowl that we had deliberately placed at the old oak’s base within easy reach of Rocky’s parched tongue.  Once we noticed Scruffy displaying a inconceivable display of self-control. He was pointed right at Rocky, front legs bent, ready to spring, teeth gleaming in the sun/shade, stretched from nose to tail like and ironing board, (that’s a flat board used with a small hand held heated appliance to remove wrinkles from clothing, found on display at the Smithsonian Museum). He alternately faced forward growling at Rocky and twisting backwards to snap at the tip of his tail. If I hadn’t known better it appeared his tail was caught in an invisible door hinge or something. I blinked to get a better perspective on Scruffy’s status when Rocky, well saturated internally, but dry externally, high tailed it back to his leafy sanctuary and Scruffy sprang into action like a toy that had just been wound up, hitting his noggin on the tree trunk.  After he staggered about for a few seconds waiting for the stars to clear his head he turned to glare at something behind him unseen to human eyes and snarled. That dog is spooky sometimes, probably the result of too many head injuries!

One night a few weeks later Cindy crept into my room, and shook me awake, and shook me awake….and shook some more. What can I say, I’m a hearty snoozer. When I at last sucked my spirit back into my body, it was to confront an apprehensive face pushed inches from mine, warning me to be quiet. Then the sounds drifted into my hearing; barking and sounds of expensive house hold items crashing to the floor. Something violent was taking place downstairs. Cindy and I huddled together uncertain who should venture down to investigate and rescue Scruffy. This wasn’t a heads or tails debate, being the mother it was obviously my decision…to send her down. She wouldn’t go, stubborn kid that she was. 911 was notified and we stayed on the phone till we heard the police sirens, (boy they got here pretty fast, a first) then we saw the police flashlights bouncing off the border hedges outside., at last the dispatcher released us from the phone and invited us to allow the police in. They informed Cindy (on the phone) that all the windows and doors were locked, and there were no signs of a break in. We weren’t convinced they knew what they were talking about.

Inch by inch, step by step we made our way downstairs; each taking turn being pushed out front!  Chaos. Furniture was up ended, glass was strewn about from an étagère that has once held many cherished Dreamsicles and Waterford pieces that were now recyclables, lamps were laying horizontally beside end tables, curtains were pulled from window frames, and ….and…Rocky was poised anxiously on top of a book shelf, his sides rapidly heaving in and out, with Scruffy at base camp waiting for his next move, one that would hopefully end in a prayer of thanksgiving for his daily bread…er, protein. Rocky! How did he get in the house? The doggy door. Poor lonely Rocky was just looking for friendship in the wrong places. I hope my home owners insurance covered terrorist squirrels.

I opened the door for the police officers who entered with their guns poised for action, till they assessed the situation, then they contacted their dispatcher for back up help; animal control.  Believe me, no animals in this house are controllable, Scruffy will vouch for that.

"Oh no you don't," Cindy stated, using her body as a shield between Rocky and imminent mistreatment. "You're not going to scare Rocky with a man in a white suit chasing him with a net!"

"Please step away from the squirrel," the officer commanded. "Rodents are known carriers of rabies!"

"Don't pull your police profiling in here! Our Rocky doesn't have......eeeek!" Rocky had lunged from the book shelf onto Cindy's shoulder, nuzzled up against her neck, and grasped her hair for added security, then stared the law enforcement down with a look that said ‘ Go ahead and take me, but there will be bloodshed’.

 The police officer immobilized himself, unsure now of how to proceed; somehow I don't think this scenario was covered in the police academies hostage situation classes.

Cindy tentatively stroked Rocky's trembling back to assure him her attentions were honorable and slowly strolled out the door (as I held my breath; after all Rocky was a terrified wild animal)  into the block pajama party that was taking place up and down the street. (I never would have thought old sour puss Mrs. Crenshaw would snooze in M&M jammies.  M&M jammies with the flirtatious, red lip-sticked, Green Peanut M&M emblazoned across her chest). Cindy carefully approached Rocky's favorite tree and off he went to his squirrelly shelter where he ranted spiritedly at us, pointing to the house. I finally exhaled, letting my face pink back up.

Our nearest neighbor, Mrs. Gosper, an elderly octogenarian wearing a nightie featuring delicate lace embroidery and full soft pleats that fell to the ankle offering a feminine flattering allure on a body that was long past offering feminine flattering allure (sometimes you learn too much from people in emergency situations) bolted up to Cindy and me and squealed, "Did you get him!"

"Yes we did! He's up in the tree," I answered relieved and embarrassed that a squirrel could upset our sleeping rituals, and that of the whole neighborhood’s.

"In the tree?" Mrs. Gosper asked. "Why is he in the tree?"

“Well,” I drawled in my best Texan accent, “He’s a squirrel and that’s where they belong.”

After a brief explanation, Mrs. Gosper exclaimed, "I called the police because I saw a flashlight circling around your living room, not a squirrel." She had called the police? No, we had called the police. After a confused question and answer session we realized the four patrol cars present were the result of two separate 911 calls, and that Mrs. Gosper’s had arrived about thirty minutes behind ours due to a traffic accident in route. We all stared at each other then slowly turned our concentration on the house. The police once again unholstered their big guns and ventured back up the steps where they found Scruffy scratching and whining at the hall closet. One officer motioned us to safety behind him, a position my daughter loved, as his partner opened the door. There amid the coats, umbrellas, golf bags and Christmas decorations stood our new neighbor, wearing a black get-up and holding a flashlight as a weapon that the officers quickly and expertly removed from his grasp before flinging him to the floor and cuffing him.

Over the next hour the story unraveled of how our new neighbor never intended to habitat his house, but was using it for the storage and marketing of stolen goods. Thus that is why we never were privy to what exited the u-hauls. Now that I ruminate on it (my reader’s digest word of the month, like it?) I realized there sure was a lot of loading and unloading going on over there.

Evidently Neighbor noticed when my husband left for one of his many business trips this morning and invited himself in to hide in a closet before we locked up for the night. Clever. Scary. He hadn't counted on Rocky's perfect timing on breaking in through the doggy door to playfully taunt Scruffy. They've become such wonderful friends over the past few weeks; well something like friends except totally different.

After everyone and their bizarre sleeping attire returned to their homes, and a major crime spree had been discovered and thwarted, Cindy and I prepared to once again close up for the night. But first….I pulled out a bag of whole pecans and went outside to Rocky’s dining area; he would never be without sustenance as long as I lived. That sweet little baby had had a wonderful part in preventing a horrible crime, if he hadn’t come in and agitated Scruffy, we could have been robbed way before Mrs. Gosper’s police had arrived. Robbed or worse.

I stopped at the back door and blinked. No, I wasn’t seeing what I thought I was seeing. No way. The pecans could wait until daylight. I needed to get to bed, because I had to be sleep walking.

Scruffy and Rocky were sitting on the patio, side by side, shoulder to shoulder, rotating their heads in unison as they watched one of the guardian angels (angels only visible to Scruffy and Rocky) assigned to Cindy and her mom pace in front of them.

"Now Scruffy, there's no need to chase poor Rocky around, you know you don't like raw meat, after all Rocky did a very brave thing tonight, sneaking into the house to thwart that thieves’ plans, and Rocky, you shouldn't antagonize Scruffy, you know he can't climb trees. I want you two to shake hands…paws.. Whatever…and try to get along; we can never have too many friends. Don’t make us come back down here tonight, or any other night.”

Scruffy and Rocky glanced sideways at each other and resigned themselves to the fact that peace was better than enmity.  Plus, who wanted angels pulling your tails to keep you from chasing each other, thought Scruffy, with the acorn size bump still on his noggin from crashing into the tree a few weeks ago! Angels are worse than that PETA organization.

 Six hours later when Cindy opened the back door to head for school with a whooping good story about her boring night she discovered a squirrel and a dog nestled peacefully together on a rattan divan. Checking to see that they were both breathing and not victims of violence, she ran, got her camera and videoed away. How else would she get anyone to believe this story. Heck she had to replay the video six times to convince herself she’d seen it and she still doubted her own eyes.